Temporary Punishment: Season 8, Episode 1
by Bellephont17
Summary: PREVIOUSLY 'SUPERNATURAL: SEASON 8'. Find out what happens RIGHT NOW! Dean and Cas struggle to survive in Purgatory while Sam hunts down Dick Roman's cohort Susan and the prophet Kevin in his quest for answers. T for gore and Dean's dirty little mind.
1. Episode 1: Temporary Punishment

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

Dean ran. His feet crashed through the misty underbrush as he tore through the forest, heedless of the branches that reached out and snagged his coat and his skin. It seemed as though the trees repositioned themselves constantly in order to get in his way, or maybe that was just his own disorientation. Being blasted to Purgatory was probably liable to mess with one's head.

Behind him, the woods seemed to surge to life. Every yard of ground he put behind him, it seemed that same ground came to life, writhing with new creatures hungry for fresh meat. Human – how often did one get a tasty treat like that down here, where the only thing to prey upon were other monsters? Dean was a delicacy, and everyone wanted in.

_Great. I'm a walking hors d'oeuvre. _His shoulder slammed into a tree and he spun around to keep his balance, quickly regaining his feet and darting off in a new direction. _Well, a running hors d'oeuvre, but who's being specific? _

It was just like the Hellhounds all over again – except a hundred times worse.

"Cas, you son of a bitch, where'd you go?" he gritted through clenched teeth.

The growls from behind him crescendoed into a chorus of eager yowls. The sound of them sent Dean's heart ricocheting off his ribcage. It was one thing to hear a windego's cry or a werewolf's howl when he was in his element, armed with iron or salt or some rune mojo to dispel the damn things, but here – he was on their turf, and he was utterly weaponless. Not to mention there were about fifty of them. Even on Earth that would have made him nervous.

Did they even have iron or salt here? Dean doubted it. This was Monsterland. Wouldn't that be kind of like keeping condoms in a nunnery – or something? Utterly redundant?

His admittedly frantic train of thought was cut short as he found himself flailing for footing at the edge of a steep ledge. The forest had dropped away several yards ago, unnoticed by the fleeing man, and now he stood on the edge of a cliff, beyond which was obscured in inky darkness. No way to know how far down it went, or what was at the bottom.

The moon came out. Timing was a bitch, Dean thought, as its sickly greenish glow illuminated him like a spotlight as he froze, poised in uncertainty. The monsters had yet to come out of the woods – it was as though they were afraid of the light.

Dean could see them moving, however, in the darkness under the trees. Their eyes glowed, their twisted nightmare shapes moved animalistically through the undergrowth. Whatever these things were, they were not the typical humanoid creatures that he had hunted all his life. These were honest-to-goodness monsters, complete with quadrupedal insentience.

Dean wondered if he should chance jumping over the edge of the cliff. It was basically a fifty-fifty chance he would survive, which was better odds than waiting where he was. Except that this was Purgatory, and most likely all that was waiting for him at the bottom of the cliff was razor sharp rocks after a ten story drop.

"Just my luck," Dean muttered.

The first of the creatures darted out of the trees. It was nightmarishly fast. Dean felt as though he were at one of those strip clubs that utilized strobe lights – one second whatever was coming for you was five feet away, then a moment of darkness and they were right in front of you. Except in the strip clubs it had always been some curvy chick in lacy underwear. This thing was substantially less pleasant: catlike, it loped forward, eyes smoldering white, huge red mouth open to reveal a snake tongue. It was hairy. It stank like raw meat, and it exuded a scalding heat. And it was right on top of Dean.

_SUPERNATURAL_

**** "Temporary Punishment" ****


	2. Torture

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

The Leviathan twisted in its tethers, its huge mouth yawning in agony as the borax scalded its skin, eating deep into its flesh. Its scream of pain echoed around the dim abandoned warehouse. As the steam rose from its face, it regained its composure and once again became the baby-faced businessman it had possessed.

"I wish you'd just get to the good part," it hissed through clenched teeth, cocking its head and forcing a smile. "You're lousy at the whole foreplay thing."

Sam put down the cleaning detergent, face stony. "Fine." He picked up a machete, hefting it in one hand as he stepped closer to the monster. "Here's the good part: you tell me where your boss took my friends, or I chop your head off and drop it in the sewer."

The Leviathan chuckled. "Smooth plan. Because decapitating me will get you answers, right?"

"It'll get rid of you. Either way, I win, so you might as well play ball here." Sam was amazed at how calm he sounded. His insides were in knots, they had been for days. He had no idea where Dean and Cas had gone . . . well no, that wasn't true, he did have an idea, and he didn't like it. Of course, Purgatory was the most logical conclusion, but he couldn't start launching a rescue mission until he was certain that was where they were. Which was why he needed this pathetic creature to talk.

"Where's the fun in playing a game you know you're going to lose?" the Leviathan shrugged. "For the record, I have no idea where your friends are. Probably vaporized. Or in Purgatory." It laughed, a horrible gurgling sound. "If I were you, I'd pray they were vaporized. For their sakes."

Sam closed his eyes, willing himself to remain impassive. "Okay, new question," he said, forcing nonchalance into his voice. "The prophet, Kevin Tran. Where is he?" If anyone would know for certain where they were, it was Kevin. It was a longshot, but it was the only shot left.

"Ask your demon friends."

"I'm asking you." Sam straddled the Leviathan, keeping just out of reach of its massive Insta-Jaws. He held the machete against the businessman's white throat. "I don't get it. Your boss is dead. You don't have to worry about repercussions if you talk."

"Oh, you're right!" said the Leviathan, as though having a revelation. "Except for – oh, wait – the part where you _kill me once I stop being an asset_."

Sam pursed his lips. "Who says I'll kill you?"

"You're a hunter."

"I'm also a negotiator." Sam stood up again, removing the blade from the creature's throat. "So, what do you say to this – you talk, and I untie you." He allowed his lips to quirk in a smile of cold victory as the Leviathan visibly chewed this over. He was hooked. "One-time offer. Take it or leave it. You have ten seconds to spill your guts or I'm spilling them for you."

"Susan has him," the Leviathan blurted.

"Susan."

"Dick's personal assistant. She's got the prophet under lockdown at her place as a hostage. The demons want him bad, and they will do anything she wants as long as she's got him."

"What happened to prophets being protected by archangels?" Sam muttered, almost to himself. "Susan should be a pile of black ooze right now."

The Leviathan shrugged in a dramatically humble way. "Paper trumps rock, Leviathan trumps angel. If archangels could keep us in line, do you think God would have gone through all the trouble to create an alternate universe to banish us to?" The Leviathan smiled slyly. "So, are you going to untie me?"

Sam straightened. "Of course. Just hold on a second . . ." With one great swoop of his blade, he decapitated it. It's head flew across the room, and black goo fountained in the air, splattering Sam. "Just had to do that first," he said, untying the corpse from the chair and dropping it onto the floor.


	3. Zero Assets

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

Dean blinked and looked around. The ledge was gone, the woods were gone. Most importantly, the monster that had been about to rip out his throat was gone. He was in a small, dark room. The only light came from a barred, greased-over window far above his head. It smelled like shit in the literal sense, the stench rising to punch him in the face.

Stumbling backward, he came up against a dilapidated wooden wall. "What the . . ." Someone moved toward him in the darkness. Dean's first instinct was to reach for the 1911 Colt he usually kept stuffed in the back of his pants, or the knife in his ankle holster, but neither were there. It wasn't necessary, as it turned out. The supposed threat was wearing a beige trench coat.

"Cas? That you?"

"Yes, it's me." The familiar, gravelly voice of his friend drained some of the tension from Dean's shoulders.

"What the hell, Cas?" he demanded. "Where'd you go?"

"I left to seek sanctuary," Castiel came over and stood in front of Dean. "You should be more careful where you run. Had you fallen into that abyss nothing could have saved you."

Dean stared at him. "Thanks. I'll remember that next time I'm being chased by a horde of crazed, ravenous beasts."

"Now you're being sarcastic," sighed Castiel.

"I think I've a right to be," Dean argued. "I'm stuck in fricking Purgatory. You just left. Why didn't you zap me with you?"

"I needed to find a safe place. I couldn't zap you with me because I didn't know where I was going," Castiel said testily.

"Never seemed to bother you back on Earth."

"That is because I know every inch of your pathetically small planet," Castiel snapped. "After staring at something for millennia you tend to become familiar with it. I've never been here before, Dean." There was fear in his voice. Real fear, submerged just below the grit of tested authority.

Dean relented. "Yeah, whatever." He pushed past Castiel and began pacing the tiny room, mindful of where he put his feet. This day did not need to get any shittier. "Let's just . . . get our act together and figure out a way to get back."

"Back," Castiel repeated. "Dean, there is no going back."

"Look," Dean crossed the distance between them in two strides, "so far I've busted out of Hell and out of Heaven. Purgatory's no different. We'll find a way out of here. Trust me."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Well then what do we do?"

"We wait for Sam to open a doorway back to Earth," Castiel intoned as though it were the most logical solution in the world. At Dean's blank look, the angel expounded. "Your brother will figure out what has happened to us. Combined with the gifts of the prophet Kevin, they should be able to divine a way to get us out."

"You're kidding," Dean scoffed. "You're just going to sit back and leave this in their hands? It may have escaped your notice, Cas, but this is about the time he'd be calling for help. But you're down here with me and we torched Bobby's ghost. Sam's got zero assets up there."

Castiel squinted through the darkness at his companion. "Your lack of faith in your brother is astounding. What must Sam do to prove himself to you?"

"What?"

"You doubt he will come."

"I don't think he can. And I'm not about to wait around with my junk in my hands for Mr. Advanced Placement to save my fricking ass." Dean pulled back, only just realizing that he was inches away from Castiel, fists clenched and jaw tight. Lightening his tone, he continued. "We'll figure something else out."

Castiel said nothing, and Dean was grateful for it. In all honesty, he was a little doubtful of Sam. He shouldn't be, he knew that, but trust could only be broken so many times before it shattered. Dean's trust in Sam was a long way from shattering, but the cracks were there, and they were slowly spreading. First with the demon blood, then with Lucifer, and finally with his soullessness after his return from Hell – there were too many letdowns for Dean to feel comfortable placing all his trust in his brother.

He wanted to believe that Sam would stop at nothing to get him and Castiel out, and he knew that Sam would try. The question was whether or not he would give it his best effort, if after a few weeks of searching he would give them up for dead and move on with the solitary and self-sufficient life he was so eager to attain and so capable of living.

The fire did little more than heat up the shit smell and make it even more pungent. Dean slouched in a corner, arms folded, staring moodily into the flames Castiel had conjured from thin air. Castiel sat a little ways away, hands clasped in his lap, looking as though he were praying very hard.

"I thought you stopped expecting God to help out," Dean grunted after several minutes.

Castiel cracked an eye open. Not many people could pull off a withering glare through one slitted eyelid, but Dean found himself averting his eyes from the angel's intense accusing stare. "I never stopped," Castiel said. "But I am not praying. I'm attempting to contact Kevin."

"Is he tuning in? Can you tell?" Dean asked.

"No," Castiel sighed. "If he is receiving my messages, he will not or cannot answer."

"He could be dead," Dean pointed out.

"That would complicate things considerably." After several moments, Castiel sighed. "Why are we even here, Dean?"

Dean blinked. "Because Dick Roman nuked our asses to kingdom come?"

"No," Castiel shifted, his face a rictus of confusion. "I mean, how are we here? Purgatory is only accessible to monsters' souls. As far as I know no human has ever been transported here, much less an angel. We shouldn't be here. It's not supposed to be possible."

Wherever the conversation would have gone, it was lost as Dean suddenly was aware of a drop in temperature, despite the fire. "What's that?" he hissed, and was startled to see his breath exit his mouth in a puff of fog. "Ghosts?" he demanded, but before he could expound, the world turned upside down as he was lifted in the air by what felt like a dozen icy claws, and hurled against the far wall.

Castiel let a cry of surprise escape his lips as he, too, was thrown up, hitting the high ceiling with a grunt before falling back to the ground. Dean rolled over and sat up, just in time to see half a dozen ghosts materialize, jittering and flickering like images on a television with bad reception.

Four men and two women, all of them stark naked. Dean blinked. That was new. Naked ghosts. Do not stare at the naked ghost ladies, Dean told himself even as two of the men advanced on him. And do not think they are hot. Too late.

He staggered to his feet, but there was nothing he could do to hold them off. One of the ghosts reached out, its fingers pressing straight through Dean's chest, burning with cold and threatening to pop his heart. Dean gasped, struggling to grab at his attacker despite knowing it was useless.

His eyes began to roll back as his breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. Like this? What kind of a hunter was he – two hours in Purgatory and already dead, and not even by some horrible otherworldly creature. A ghost. A nude ghost. That was just embarrassing.

A blast of light blinded him, and the grip on his heart vanished. Slumping backwards, he slid down the wall into a sitting position. Castiel, looking only slightly worse for the wear, walked over and offered a hand.

"Once we get back to the US, I think we need to make you a regular member," Dean gasped.

"It is interesting," Castiel noted, looking at his own fingers as though their presence on the ends of his hands was unexpected. "It seems that this atmosphere is conducive to my abilities."

"Well that makes one of us. I need to find me some iron, salt, something. I feel naked."


	4. Another Message

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

The Impala was making suspicious noises, complaining about the rough spin Meg had taken it on just before the showdown at Sucro Corp. Sam pulled onto a deserted side alley which was lit only by the residual flicker of a red bar sign across the street. It was raining slightly, the windshield wipers swishing gently, calmingly. Putting on the parking break, he sat back in the driver's seat and ran his fingers idly down the worn leather steering wheel cover.

Inhaling deeply, he tried to banish the frightening feeling of lonesomeness that seemed to have been riding shotgun for the whole drive. He'd felt this way twice before in his life. Only twice – once when Dean went to Hell and once when he himself jumped into Lucifer's cage. It was the feeling of being worlds apart from his only family. Dean could be in Tasmania and Sam would feel that he was out there somewhere, but this – Dean's presence, his soul, whatever it was, it wasn't reading on Sam's radar, and it was freaking him out.

"Damn it, Dean," Sam muttered, fishing for his phone. He'd left at least a dozen messages in his brother's inbox already, but it had become a habit to get on the cell phone for help when stumped on a case. And there was no one else to call.

After speed dialing, he put it to his ear and watched the rain outside. "Hey, Dean, it's me. Again. Listen, I've got a lead on Kevin. Hopefully he can tell me where you are and how to save you. So just . . . hang in there. I'm coming for you. Okay?" He paused and shifted in his seat. "Don't die, alright? I kind of need you back in one piece because . . . with Bobby gone . . . I just don't think I can do this alone. It never ends well when I try flying solo – to be honest, I kind of scare myself." Another pause, this time accompanied by a shamefaced half-smile. "You probably aren't even going to get this. If you're in Purgatory like I'm guessing, you're not getting the best reception. But, uh, on the off-chance your phone is working, call me back? It'd be nice to know you're still walking and talking."


	5. Souls for Sandwiches

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

Grants Pass, Oregon.

Sam stood on a familiar street corner, hands deep in his jacket pockets, long hair flying in his face as he stared across at Ervin's Diner. Ironic, that his quest should lead him back here. Why would Susan come here?

"It looks so . . . normal," he muttered before he realized that there would be no smart-ass reply from behind his shoulder.

Shrugging, Sam crossed the street and walked into the small restaurant. It couldn't have been more than a year ago, he and Dean had sat at that same bar surrounded by silver-eyed monster hybrids his brother had insisted upon naming . . . Sam had forgotten the name. Something ridiculous – spaceships or presidents or something. This was where they had ganked Eve, the Mother Of All.

The bar was abnormally quiet and still, and in a state of general messiness. There were people sitting on the floor and on the bar counter as well as in the stalls, and everyone was eating. There were customers milling around unhindered in the back kitchen area; one woman was idly picking curly bits of potato out of the fryers with red, blistering fingers, an old man was standing motionlessly in front of the large stainless steel freezer, not even bothering to open the door and get at the food inside.

Turducken People. Sam had been forced to deal with them several times now. On his way to Oregon he had intervened in five demon deals – these people were literally selling their souls for sandwiches – and rescued a few dozen of them by crashing a garbage truck into the tour bus which was being driven to a Leviathan feeding complex. Not to mention those he had had to swerve around during his drive cross country – one man had been eating pizza in the middle of the left lane on Route 81.

Getting any useful information out of anyone in the diner was going to be like pulling teeth, Sam knew, but he needed information about Susan. He did retain a little glimmer of hope that it would be easier now – after Dick Roman had been defeated, the other Leviathans had scattered. Headless, they had abandoned Sucro Corp, at least for the moment, and fled to their hidey holes. No new poison was being pumped out of those factories, so, given enough time, the effects should start to wear off on the population, making them a little more aware, a little more human.

The two waitresses were sitting listlessly, one of them drinking black coffee right from the smoking glass pot. The second girl was lying with her head on her folded arms, mustard crusting the corners of her lips. She sighed, blinked, looking utterly bored and surprisingly sentient. At least she wasn't eating.

Sam, deciding there was nothing for it, walked forward and sat down next to the listless girl. He looked for her nametag. Kali. Her name was Kali – using the Turducken People's names usually got their attention a little better than simply saying "Hey, you", he discovered.

"Um, Kali?" Sam asked, laying a hand on her arm and shaking her slightly. "Kali, I need to talk to you. It's me, Sam." Pretending familiarity also seemed to help with cognition and ready answers.

"Oh, hi, Sam," sighed Kali. "You're cute. What can I get you?"

"Nothing, thanks. I just want to ask you some questions."

Kali rolled her eyes. "I don't know. I'd like to answer you, but I don't feel like it. I don't feel like doing anything. Ever feel like that? Like you just don't want to do something?"

Sam snorted. "Story of my life. But seriously, Kali, I would really appreciate it if . . ."

"It's like, I know I _should _be doing stuff, but I don't want to. I mean, I don't think I could even if I _did _want to and I really, _really _want pickles. I'd _kill _for pickles." Kali was talkative, at least. That was always good, so long as Sam could direct her attention to what was important.

"I'll get you some pickles if you answer some questions," Sam bargained.

"Shoot," said the girl.

"Has there been anything strange going on around here lately? Disappearances, for example? Maybe . . ." he hesitated, then realized Kali would probably take even the seemingly insane at face value. "Maybe people with really big mouths and sharp teeth?"

Kali thought. "Yes, they come in a few times a day and take people away. It's probably about time, actually. Can I get those pickles now?"

Sam's mind was racing. It was promising stuff – Leviathans making daily trips to the same diner for food, coupled with the Leviathan's intel that this was where Susan was holed up – he was close to finding Kevin. He could feel it. "Yeah. I'll get you those pickles."

"Never mind, here they come," Kali said, sighing again. "God, I'm bored."

Whirling around, Sam saw a couple of quite executive looking figures crossing the street towards the diner. Thinking fast, Sam reached across the counter and grabbed a few napkins from a nearby dispenser. Then, slumping backwards and staring at the slowly revolving ceiling fan, he began taking bites out of the wad of napkins and chewing the soggy paper like cud. The best way to get into any party, after all, is to be invited.

The bells on the door jangled as the two men walked in, and Sam fought every hunter's instinct that was urging him to leap up and fight these creatures tooth and nail.

"Alright, dumplings," cried one man cheerfully. "Time to go!" He turned to his companion. "Grab the girls, the Boss wants some soft meat after Darryl carted back his truckload of old geezers."

"What about the big guy?" demanded the second man. "The Boss might enjoy playing with her food."

Sam fought to keep his face and body relaxed. He raised his hand and took another bite of napkin. He let a piece hang half out of his mouth and get caught on his lip.

"Anything to keep from getting bibbed," the first guy said, and Sam could hear him shudder. "First time I'd ever seen it for real. Poor Darryl. Not something I'd be thrilled about having to do myself."

"Then let's stop dragging ass and start harvesting before she gets too hungry," grunted the second, coming over and gripping Sam by the collar. He gave him a rough shake, then poked him in the stomach with a long, hard finger. "He's going to be chewy. Too much muscle."

"Maybe Boss'll keep him for a pet, then, like she's keeping that other kid. Just grab him and let's go."

"You, kid, get up and come with us," the Leviathan growled in Sam's face.

Sam forced a smile. "Sure thing," he offered, compliantly getting up and allowing himself to be led outside.


	6. Tainted

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

The past hour Dean had spent wandering around their hideout (which happened to be a small cabin with a deep root cellar), opening doors and expecting teeth and claws to jump out at him from the darkness beyond, but there never was. He voiced this to Castiel.

"Apparently, though monsters are stronger and more numerous here, they are neither omniscient nor ubiquitous," the angel intoned.

"English, Cas, please," Dean complained, rummaging through a wardrobe hung with blood spattered, shredded clothing. He pulled out a chewed-up shoe. "Think Puppy Toy will do anything against ghosts?"

"Unlikely," Castiel frowned.

Dean tossed the shoe over his shoulder. "Well, one good thing's come out of this. You've had the stick reinserted up your ass. You sure you don't feel like taking a time out and playing Parcheesi?"

"Yes. I seem to be back to normal."

"I love your definition of 'normal'," Dean shook his head, going back to his search. "Damn, I can't find anything, not even a frickin' iron nail."

"There is a possibility that such things as iron and salt have not been discovered here," Castiel said. "Or at least, not exploited."

"How is that even possible?"

"Think about it, Dean. Do people on Earth go looking for nuclear radiation in order to make commodities?"

"Touché." Straightening, Dean's face clouded over and he adopted the pose that he normally took when he expected danger to come hurtling around a corner. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Shh," Dean held up a hand and allowed his eyes to rove about the room as he strained to hear what he could swear were voices. They crept through the walls and filtered up from the floor, climbing into his ears and tickling his brain only just out of reach of discernment. "You're telling me you don't hear those voices?"

"I don't hear anything."

"Something's out there, man." Eyes nervous, Dean licked his lips and glanced at Castiel. "I hope you're stocked up on angel juice. Because I'm not going to be any good to anyone like this without weapons."

They waited for an hour on Dean's command, ready for whatever was the cause of the voices, but nothing came.

"Can you still hear them?" asked Castiel.

Dean nodded. "Maybe it's just Purgatory, playing with my brain. Question is, why can I hear it and you can't?"

"That isn't the question," Castiel contradicted. "The question is – how are we here in the first place?"

"Well, when you come up with an answer, let me know."

"I believe I already have half an answer." Castiel's face grew long with regret. "When I . . . consumed those souls . . ." He squinted his eyes and looked away. "I _became _Leviathan. I was utterly transformed, if even for a short while. It must have . . . tainted my soul."

Dean frowned. "But then why am _I _here?"

"I don't know." Obviously the voicing of his suspicion was still weighing on the angel. His brow was furrowed and he wouldn't look directly at Dean.

"Well I guess it doesn't matter. We're here and that's that." Dean clapped Castiel on the shoulder. "Don't let it bother you. Whatever happened before, you're one hundred percent Cas now, and that's what counts."

"If you say so."

"Come on," Dean said. "Let's get out of this shack. I'm going stir crazy, and we're not going to find a way out of Monsterland sitting on our thumbs in here."


	7. Holy Borax

**A/N: THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS! They are really helping to motivate me! **

**Sorry the chapters are kind of short, as some people have pointed out, but I'm going more by "scene" than by "chapter" here, making it so that when the directors would cut in an episode, I end a "chapter". But that simply means more chapters quicker :) **

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

After a slight detour to pick up a straggling citizen looking through some nearby trash cans, Sam, Kali, and about a half dozen other diner patrons were herded into the back of a conspicuously inconspicuous white van. Sam wondered why the Leviathans worried about being inconspicuous, as they could be driving a tank and the citizens of Grants Pass wouldn't do more than blink twice – if that.

The windows were blacked out and the ride was short, giving Sam only a little time to form the next part of his admittedly rash plan. He had left almost all his weaponry in the Impala, with the exception of his machete and a small plastic bottle full of a specialized mixture of holy water and borax – effective on whatever he ran into.

Sam closed his eyes. He would have to give up his weapons if he was planning on getting into Susan's hideout alive. There was no chance the Leviathans would believe that he was an innocent piece of meat, loaded down with specialized monster-killing gear as he was. Once he was in, getting out would be a problem, but he was certain that after finding Kevin he could improvise, find something capable of chopping necks in half. Glancing around, he moved slowly, unbuckling the machete sheath from his belt and slipping it under the car seat; it was quickly followed by the plastic bottle of holy borax.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. He had no idea what kind of a place he was going to be taken to, although he was pretty certain some kind of large foreboding warehouse – probably on a pier or behind a garbage dump – was in order. Monster types seemed to gravitate toward that kind of thing. The ease with which he could break out depended largely on where the Turducken People were being stored, and then of course there was the whole matter of actually locating Kevin.

The prophet was alive, that much was certain, thanks to the comment the Leviathan had made to its partner. Susan was keeping him alive – of course she was. He was her only leverage against Crowley, who no doubt wanted her dead almost as much as he had Dick Roman. She was, after all, Roman's right-hand monster, and probably had the capability of putting the whole world domination thing back on the rails, given time and assets. Sam added ganking her to his suicidal laundry list of things-to-do-while-in-captivity.

_-15 minutes later -_

"Alright, lovelies," said one Leviathan, opening the back of the van and grabbing the nearest Turducken Person. "This way."

Sam followed the others into the sunlight and, after his eyes adjusted to the bright golden light that was very much at odds with how he was feeling at the moment, he was surprised to see the building that lay before him. It was a quaint two-story cottage, complete with Tudor trim, low sweeping eaves, and a red front door. He could just hear Dean making a snarky comment about the appearance. Honestly, however, it was an ingenious plan. It was the last place he himself would have thought to look.

They were led around the side of the house, past several mimosa trees and butterfly bushes and a few bloody corpses. The smell of flowers and rotten flesh made Sam want to gag, but he held it back. To a Turducken Person, scent made absolutely no difference whatsoever. And at the moment, Sam Winchester was a Turducken Person.

The Leviathans threw open two battered wooden cellar doors after undoing several lengths of sturdy-looking chains, and began tossing people down into the dimness below. It was eerily quiet – Sam expected some kind of scream for help, whimpering or crying or groans of agony. There was nothing.

He was taken by the jacket and hurled into the cellar. His foot caught on the cement steps going down and he clattered and rolled down the flight of stairs, landing sprawling on the concrete floor below.

The cellar doors slammed shut. Sam got to his knees and did a quick scan of the room. There were at least two dozen people here. A couple were chained to the walls – no doubt they had put up some semblance of a fight, enough to make the Leviathans distrustful. All over the floor were plastic trays covered in crumbs and foil sandwich wrappers. More Turducken. Just wonderful. Sam only hoped he wouldn't be forced to eat that stuff – he couldn't afford dull reflexes at the moment. Not to mention the crap it probably did to one's body.

"Kali, are you alright?" Sam asked the waitress, who had slumped down into a beleaguered sitting position against one wall.

"I want pickles," she almost sobbed.

"Right." Sam patted her hand briskly. "Okay, well, just hang in there. We're gonna get out of here."

Slowly he walked around the small cellar, attempting to talk to each individual. Each time he got nothing more than blank stares or slurred complaints about hunger. Frustration began to build inside him – he remembered when he used to think people were stupid because they didn't believe in monsters. Now he wished only that someone, _anyone, _would couple more than four coherent words together to make an even-vaguely helpful sentence.

"When Crowley said I was on my own," Sam thought to himself, "I had no idea how right he was."


	8. One Fugly Son Of A Bitch

**A/N: These reviews are lovely, everyone! They really make my day :D Here's the next scene. As of right now, consider the episode more than halfway done, just reaching that "last twenty minute" bit that promises some kind of life-threatening climax :) **

**Oh, and – due to the fact that I've only seen Season 7 once, I don't remember if Susan had ever met or seen Sam. If she had, please forgive me and consider this slightly A/U. Or maybe she just forgot. Please let me know if you remember, though - I want to make this as true to canon as possible. Thanks!**

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

The shack that Cas had deemed "sanctuary" was situated deep in the woods. From the sagging porch, Dean could see an overgrown driveway running down a gradual decline, snaking through the dim trees into the misty darkness beyond. No car was to be seen.

"So," Dean said, zipping up his jacket. It was frickin cold in Purgatory. "On your little jaunt around Monsterland, what else did you find except this ghost-infested pile of crap?"

"Not much," Castiel sighed. "Several ghost towns – in every sense of the word. More forest. Volcanoes."

"Volcanoes?" Dean repeated in disbelief.

"Yes, there are quite a few of them."

"We're not in Pompeii range, though, are we?"

"No. I thought it best not to risk being in their immediate vicinity. Taking into account where we are, it would not surprise me if every single one of them were active. In fact, it might be thanks to airborne ash from eruptions that this place seems to be in a perpetual state of dusk."

The thought of active volcanoes peppering this already brutal landscape was not conducive to Dean's mood. "How does this place even have towns? These are monsters."

"Just because an entity is nonhuman does not make it stupid, Dean," Castiel retorted. "That kind of thinking is the reasoning behind much of what is wrong with your planet."

"Okay, okay, stow the ethics crap. Let's find one of these towns. Maybe they've got some kind of clue as to how to get out of here."

"How many times do I have to tell you, it isn't up to us. If there were a way out of Purgatory from this side, don't you think the Leviathans or Eve or _something _would have found it by now?" Castiel hesitated. He licked his lips and attempted to think of a way to explain it. "Think of Purgatory as a room with only one door. This door has only one handle, and it is on the outside. We have to wait until someone decides to let us out. In our case, Sam and the prophet."

Dean shook his head. "Well, I don't like it."

"It's Purgatory. You're not supposed to like it."

Dean pressed the heel of his palm to one ear and then the other. "I thought it would stop once we got out of the house . . ." He looked at Castiel. "You _sure _you don't hear anything?"

Something swooped out of the trees, plummeting through the air with a screech and the flap of leathery wings. The two friends turned: Dean found his hand automatically reaching for his gun, and Castiel's palm was already beginning to glow with white light. Whatever it was ignored Dean completely and slammed right into the angel, carrying him off the porch and into the trees.

"Cas!" shouted Dean.

There was another simian scream and he himself was attacked by a second creature. It grabbed him by the jacket lapels and threw him off the deck with ridiculous strength before swooping over on huge bat-like wings to straddle Dean's sprawled form.

It was humanoid in that it stood on two legs and was approximately Dean's height. It was bone-thin and its skin was the color and texture of aged leather, and its face was that of a bat – wide, lidless, sightless eyes and a tiny mouth endowed with long, hollow fangs that could be used for one of two things – pumping poison _into _the victim or sucking blood _out. _Either way, it wasn't pleasant.

Dean pushed at its bony claws as it scrabbled to latch onto his chest, but it was too strong. Insanely strong for something that seemed to be nothing but skin and bones. Slowly but surely its fanged mouth descended, getting closer and closer to his exposed neck.

There was a blast of light from somewhere in the woods. The thing trying to drink Dean flinched and screamed, giving Dean enough of a distraction to flip the thing onto its back. Planting a knee in its heaving, shrunken stomach, he grasped its flailing claws and shoved his forearm under the thing's chin, pinning its head to the ground.

"Cas!" he shouted again.

The angel was instantly at his side, bending down and laying his hand on the creature's head. Light poured from its eyes and mouth and it jittered and screamed – and then it went limp, dark ooze pouring from empty eye sockets.

Dean stood up, wiping his hands on his jacket. "Dude," he spoke to the limp creature. "You're one fugly son of a bitch."

"You know what this is?"

"Vampire," Dean asserted. So that was what the monsters really looked like – all those vamps he had ganked – this was what had been inside of them?

"Yes. This is a vampire in its true form. This is how angels see them – we are too strong to be fooled by their human disguises."

"Must be where the 'giant bat' legends came from," Dean mused. "Some bastard got a glimpse of a vamp without its zipper down?" Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but never got to. Something seemed to burst in his head in a firework of dark pain. And then Castiel was gripping his arm and raising him from a sprawling position on the ground.

"Dean?" The angel looked worriedly at his friend.

"Alright, that was weird," Dean said, trying to keep his tone light as he steadied himself. "Must have hit my head harder than I thought when the vamp threw me off the porch." He scrubbed at the back of his skull.

Once he was certain Dean was not going to fall over again, Castiel removed his hand and stepped back a pace to study his friend. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy," winced Dean. "Just give me a minute."

"I suggest we travel to one of the towns. If anything it will offer more protection than these woods."

"Sounds like a plan. Beam us up, Scotty."

Castiel hesitated. "The disorientation after transportation – will you be able to handle it in your present state? Perhaps we should walk a while first."

"I told you, Cas, I'm peachy. Let's just go."

"Very well." Castiel reached out and touched Dean on the forehead, and suddenly the only occupant on the overgrown driveway was a dead vampire.


	9. No Guts No Glory

**Dear Readers,**

**Firstly, let me apologize for not updating quicker. Two of my stories on were removed for unexplained reasons (*insert angry face*) and I couldn't upload stories for several days as a result. Thanks for your patience! (Consequently, would anyone like to tell me how to contact the administrators so I can get this sorted out?)**

**Secondly, I want to put to rest a worry that was voiced by one reviewer, saying that Sam's plan to infiltrate Susan's lair would not work because the Leviathans saw him through Castiel's eyes. However, this could easily be explained away by two canonical facts:**

**Sam was not around when the Leviathans took over Castiel's body. He was being pinned to the wall by Satan in the supply cabinet at the time.**

**Castiel claimed in the scene where he was taken over that the Leviathans were "too strong" and that he "couldn't hold them back any more", implying that he had before. Therefore, it is very likely that, because they were not in control of his body, they would not be able to use his eyes to see Sam during the times that they interacted in "The Man Who Knew Too Much" and "The New Boss".**

**I'm not saying this is definitive, but there is a very good chance that this is how it worked out, and therefore Sam's plan is intact. Thank you! And now, back to the story:**

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment 

Sam had given up looking for a makeshift weapon. The Leviathans were being infuriatingly careful, no doubt feeling that with their boss gone they couldn't be too cautious, even with the Turducken People.

"Damn it," Sam grunted, running his hands through his hair. "Damn it."

The door to the basement rattled as it was unlocked from the outside, giving Sam enough time to adopt a glazed-over position in a corner. He allowed his long body to sprawl gawkily, forcing his muscles not to tense up with the urge to fight.

Two Leviathans came down the steps. "Okay, she wants to see the big one."

Sam swallowed as they approached him, grabbed him under either arm, and half-dragged him up the stairs. Sam looked down to find Kali looking at him with a surprisingly sharp look on her face. He flashed her an encouraging smile, but when she smiled back it was anything but innocent. Sam's brow furrowed. What the hell had that been about?

Then the cellar door closed and he decided it was time to worry about his own neck. He would have attempted to take out the two Leviathans right there . . . if there hadn't been several more in the room. He was good but he wasn't that good. Once again he missed his backup.

The house was a quaint bi-level, decorated in the sickening country style that seemed to glorify rust, tea stains, and peeling, faded paint. This particular interior decorator must have also had a thing for blood and guts, as there were ample quantities of both of those slung decoratively around as well. What looked like the remains of a former housewife were strewn across the kitchen table, a cleaver embedded in what was left of her back. Her checkered apron was brown with old blood.

Sam attempted to keep a blank expression on his face, but he was getting steadily more pissed at this Susan character all the while. He liked the feeling – it was the familiar righteous anger directed at some mutilating monster that he and Dean would have hunted years ago – a windego or a shifter, preying on innocents. The more angry he got, he figured, the better chance he would have of surviving. Anger was his friend.

Fully aware of the unhealthy emotional consequences such a thought would have if fostered, Sam allowed himself to bask in the darkness that anger provided, feeling it building in his stomach like a reservoir of as yet untapped strength he would later mix with adrenaline to wipe these creatures off the face of the planet. For Dean, for Castiel, for the nameless woman in the bloody checkered apron.

"I think I like him," said Susan once they had dragged Sam into the Colonial-style living room. The Leviathan woman was sitting in a high-backed, sickeningly pink chair, holding a glass of what looked for all the world like congealing blood in her delicate, spider web-veined hand.

She was an old woman. From what his victim had told him about the conniving secretary/right-hand-monster of Dick Roman, Sam had expected her to look different. Younger, stronger. This woman was seventy at the earliest, short and petite with a flat face and fluffy billows of short white hair that stuck out behind rosy, slightly pointed ears. She smiled. "I just wish I had my old body back. She would have been a little more impressive. But I couldn't risk being recognized." She made a coy little come-hither gesture that Sam found even more disgusting than the mangled corpses piled like kindling near the large fireplace. "Come here. Now."

It was going to be Gertrude Case all over again, only so much worse. At least Gert hadn't been a flesh-eating monster.

Sam was pushed forward by the two Leviathans, until he was standing right in front of her. Susan reached out and ran her fingers down his chest and stomach, gratefully stopping before she reached his nether regions. Smiling and dragging in a deep, sensual breath, she lifted her cup of blood to her mouth and took a small sip.

"My brothers and sisters tell me that humans aren't good for anything unless they're dipped in garlic sauce," she confided in Sam, putting the glass aside and heaving herself to her feet. "But they're wrong. They're also nice sex toys. And you get to eat them later, which is a bonus." She took Sam's hand, and he couldn't help the facial twitch of disgust as she attempted to pull him from the room. "But let's not worry about the eating part right now. There's a bedroom upstairs. Shall we . . ."

She was interrupted by the same two Leviathan guards bursting through the door, dragging a limp and quivering figure between them. "Boss, look who we found skulking around the back door."

Susan dropped Sam's hand and gave a shout of chortling glee. Sam's own eyes went wide as he recognized the round, jowly face, the piggish eyes, and the once-elegant suit.

"Well, well, Crowley," Susan smiled, bending over to get on the same level as the crumpled demon. "What an unexpected surprise."


	10. Long Live the King

**Where are my reviewers? :( **

Supernatural|Season 8|Episode 1 – Temporary Punishment

Sam's first thought was that Crowley would notice him and blow his cover. He tensed and got ready to make a break for . . . somewhere. The tiny room wasn't exactly brimming with escape route possibilities, and he found himself wondering if the chimney was large enough for him to shimmy up. Even as he dismissed this idea as ludicrous – he could too clearly picture Dean's laughing face if he were to witness such a feat – he realized that Crowley's eyes seemed glazed over.

The demon hung in the Leviathans' grip, a purely terrified look on his face. "Please, you have to let me go," he said in that gravelly accented voice. "I'll leave you alone. Disappear. Just don't hurt me."

"This is pathetic," Susan said, straightening, her excitement gone to be replaced by disgust. "I was looking forward to a macho showdown. Pulling the pathetic card is low, even for you, Crowley."

Sam agreed. Innocent-and-scared-Crowley was even more creepy than sarcastic-and-mysterious-Crowley. Before he could do more than think this, Susan's grandmotherly face warped to accommodate her huge mouth and, with a roar, she dug into Crowley's chest and began to eat the demon alive.

Crowley hollered as blood spattered the shag carpet and the tastefully yellowed wallpaper. The sound of flesh being ripped from bones and cartilage snapping filled the quaint room. Snatching the opportunity – Susan was obviously engrossed in tearing her enemy to shreds – Sam lunged for the door, knocking the Leviathan guards out of the way and tearing into the kitchen.

From the living room, Susan could be heard shouting orders through mouthfuls of meat. Wincing, Sam dove for the corpse on the kitchen table, pulling the cleaver free from the woman's back. The handle was sticky with blood, but it would take the heads off his pursuers.

He hid it behind his back as the two Leviathans stormed into the room. Sam put his back to the wall and waited until they were in range. Switching his grip on the knife, he flashed it out and decapitated both with two blows. He was gone, heading for the cellar, before the bodies fell to their knees.

He kicked in the door, running down the short flight of steps. Kali and several of the others looked up as he burst into their midst. "Quick. Everyone. On your feet," he barked breathlessly. He hauled several people to their feet, then used the cleaver's handle to break the already rusted chains holding the few captives to the wall.

Sam glanced at the cellar doors that lead to the outside, and paused. These people wouldn't get three feet without being retaken by the Leviathans if he didn't help them, but Kevin was still in here somewhere, the only key to Purgatory. If he walked away now, Susan would move him and there was no way he would be able to find him again.

Dean would want him to save the Turducken People. Castiel would, as well. "Damn it." The sound of Leviathans approaching fell, muffled, from above. "Alright. Everyone, follow me."


End file.
